


What The Storm Brought

by woodelf



Series: The Floofy!verse [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, The Each Uisge, Water Horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodelf/pseuds/woodelf
Summary: Something is left behind when a bolt of lightning strikes the wishing well in the woods.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Henry Mills, Henry Mills & Emma Swan, Henry Mills & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: The Floofy!verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836043
Kudos: 14





	What The Storm Brought

More than one resident of Storybrooke jumped when a huge crack of lightning rent the air and briefly lit up the storm-dark night.

“Wow, that was a close one,” Emma said as she tucked Henry in for the night. As soon as they had found their own apartment earlier in the year, they had gone back to New York for a couple of weeks to wrap up their life there, dealing with Henry’s school and her job and packing up everything they wanted to bring back from their apartment. Neal had accompanied them, and it had turned into a combination moving trip and impromptu family vacation, visiting all their favourite places together. Henry’s bedroom was a mix of the old and the new. Amongst the familiar furniture and things from their year in New York were photos and souvenirs of their most recent time there with Neal, and objects that belonged wholly to Storybrooke: his prized fairy tale book, his dad’s old leather football from when he was a child, the large model ship from Gold’s shop that Henry had picked out for his birthday present, a dreamcatcher. 

She went to pull the heavy drapes across the window. “Looks like it might have come down by the wishing well.”

“Do you think it might have hit it?” Henry nestled down contentedly, unbothered by the noise outside.

“I hope not.”

“Why? Do you think it could have been damaged?”

“Actually, I was thinking it’s probably not a good idea for something with that much electricity in it to strike a magical well. Who knows what might happen?" 

"So, what are your plans for today?” Emma asked the next morning at breakfast. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and grey. “Not exactly a treehouse day.”

“No,” Henry agreed. After his dad had gotten a job at the hardware store, and its included employee discount, he had gone on a bit of a DIY kick. Henry didn’t think he’d ever been more surprised than when the birthday gift that had looked and felt like nothing more than a wooden board had, in fact, turned out to be a wooden board. His father had laughed at the dumbfounded look on his face. (Henry knew exactly what he’d looked like, since his dad had been ready with the camera to snap a picture.)

“Thought we might build something together,” Neal had explained, and had produced another heavy present that had clanked in a most intriguing manner. Henry had been overjoyed to discover his very own toolbox, and the “something” had been a treehouse, which they had built at the edge of the words not far from Gold’s house, far enough in for privacy, but close enough for bathroom breaks and raids on the kitchen, his grandfather solemnly presenting him with his own key to the house so he could come and go as he pleased if no one was at home.

“Just don’t touch anything you don’t recognise and clean up any messes you make,” Gold had warned, while Henry had hugged him and voiced his thanks. He’d also been allowed to rummage for provisions in the attic, when the treehouse had been completed by the end of May, and had taken possession of a metal footlocker where he kept a faded outdoor cushion, an old wool picnic blanket, a flashlight, some comic books, and various other sundries. He’d since spent many a long, lazy summer afternoon in the cool, shaded fastness of the treehouse, reading or writing in the journal in which he recorded every bit of information and story about the Enchanted Forest that he could coax out of his father and grandparents – or anyone, really, that didn’t mind talking about their lives there. Even if he never got the chance to go there, it was still his heritage, and he felt compelled to write it all down, to the smallest detail. Remembering all the days he and his dad had spent working together on the treehouse, talking about everything under the sun while they sanded everything smooth, made being under its roof feel like being wrapped up in his father’s arms.

But no, today, with its uncomfortably damp, clinging air, was not a day for sitting still outside. He thought of what his mother had said last night. It was supposed to clear up later, and the mist would clear first on higher ground. 

“Maybe I’ll bike up to the well,” he decided. “See if it looks all right. And there’s lots of blueberry bushes on the way; Belle said the other day that she’d make a pie if I brought her enough berries.”

“All right. Bring some home for us as well, though. Do you need me to find you something to put the berries in?”

“Nah, I can get a pail out of the tool shed at Grandpa’s house on the way.”

It said something for how far they had come that the thought of Henry borrowing something from Gold’s house when no one would probably be at home to ask wasn’t even a cause for concern. She saw the way Gold doted on Henry and had to admit that Henry had lucked out in who both his grandfathers had been.

“Take your jacket,” she said simply.

After breakfast, Henry put his windbreaker on and biked over to the salmon-coloured house, letting himself into the backyard and grabbing a pail from the toolshed. He wedged it into his bike basket and continued on along the road until he reached the point where he wanted to strike off straight up the hillside that led to the well. He’d been wanting to carve a hiking staff for himself, and the storm was sure to have brought down some big branches. He could look for a good straight one on the way up and pick berries on the way down. Chaining his bike to a signpost, he took his pail and almost immediately forgot his intentions when he saw all the low bushes growing near the edge of the road. After putting a couple of handfuls into the pail, however (and more than a few into his mouth), he reminded himself that what he picked now he’d have to lug all the way both up and down and resolutely ignored the berries in favour of looking for a good branch for a staff. He picked up and discarded a few along the way as he climbed up through the trees, finally finding one the perfect height and thickness about halfway up, fairly straight and sturdy. He took a break, sitting down to break off as many of the smaller branches and twigs from the main branch as possible with the aid of his pocketknife. He’d do a proper job of cleaning it up later and whittling it smooth. Now that he had his staff, he veered over towards the path to the well, where more light came through and the blueberry bushes grew thickly. He’d half-filled his pail by the time the well came in sight, and he set it down and stretched, planning to look for signs of a lightning strike before heading back down.

Henry froze, not quite believing his eyes as he saw a black horse grazing on the lush grass that grew near the well. It was beautiful, not overly large but strong and powerful-looking, with a long, rippling mane and tail and feathering at its fetlocks, reminding Henry of a charger that a knight might ride. He took a few steps closer, and the horse’s head came up, watching him without alarm.

“Hey,” Henry said softly. “Where did you come from? You’re not one of the horses from the stables.” He was startled to realise that between Neverland and New York and losing his real memories for a while, he hadn’t been back to the stables in over a year. He wondered how the pinto was getting along, that his Grandpa David had been going to teach him to ride. Maybe he could learn on this one. “At least you weren’t the last time I was there. Did you come back from the Enchanted Forest with the others? I wonder if you belong to anybody.” Slowly he approached, delighted when the horse didn’t shy away. “My name’s Henry,” he offered, reaching out cautiously when he was near enough, and stroking a hand along the stallion’s thick, muscled neck. “Got caught out in the storm, huh? You’re still pretty wet. And it's too damp out to dry off. You must be uncomfortable. Want to come along to town with me and I’ll get you dried off?” He combed his fingers through the tangled mane and removed some sort of green vegetation.

The stallion swung his head around and nudged him with his muzzle, turning broadside to Henry.

“It almost looks like you want me to ride,” Henry chuckled. “But I don’t really know how, and besides, I’ve got these to carry.” He held up his branch and pail. “And I’ve got to finish filling the pail on the way back down. But you could follow me, if you like?" He turned and started walking away, glancing back over his shoulder when he heard soft footfalls behind him and smiling at the sight of the stallion following.

"Good boy,” he praised. “We’ll need a name for you if no one recognises you. How about…Nightshade?”

The stallion snorted, and Henry took that as a yes. “Did you break out of the stables last night, during the storm? I can’t imagine wanting to leave a nice snug stall in that weather. Or have you been out here for a while? You haven’t got a halter on. Or I suppose you could have come in over the town line, if you got loose from somewhere. But you look like an Enchanted Forest horse to me.”

Nightshade stopped when Henry paused to pick some more blueberries and ambled after him when Henry straightened and moved forward again.

“You must have been lonely way up there,” observed Henry, enjoying the horse’s quiet companionship. “But you have me now, if no one recognises you, and there’ll be other horses in the stables for company.” He led the way down the hillside to where he’d left his bike, his pail full to the brim by the time he secured it in his bike basket. He realised the long branch was just going to have to be awkwardly balanced on the handlebars and swung his leg over the bar.

“I feel kind of silly calling you like a dog, but come on, Nightshade.” Henry said hopefully and struck off, relieved to see the black horse start after him a moment later and stay by his side at an easy trot. “Do you know about cars? We shouldn’t meet too much traffic, but get off on the side of the road if we see any.” Something struck him then, about the sound of the hoofbeats. They’re weren’t quite the ringing clip-clop he’d subconsciously expected. He glanced down, and didn’t see any glint of metal shoes on the stallion.

“Okay, I think that’s one more point for you coming from the Enchanted Forest. I mean, I know they’ve been shoeing horses for centuries, but I think it’s only really necessary if you’re out on hard surfaces a lot? I don’t know; I’ll have to look it up. Or ask my Grandpa David. He’d probably know. We’ll stop at my treehouse first; I want to leave my staff there to work on, and then I’m going to drop off the berries at my Grandma Belle’s house; she said she’d make a pie if I brought enough. Oh yeah, and save some for my mom and me. And then I’ll take you to the stables, and see if I can get you dried off somehow. What do you think they use when they give horses a bath? Towels? A giant blowdryer? Guess I’ll find out.”

The damp, grey day was keeping most people indoors; and they made it to the old Victorian house on the edge of town without attracting any attention. Henry leaned his bike against the white picket fence that enclosed the front yard. “Come on,” he invited, swinging open the gate and starting up the path to the door. “I’ll drop the berries off and get something to drink, and then I’ll take you to the stables.” He stopped and turned around when he realised that Nightshade had finally stopped following him. The stallion stood just outside the gate, fidgeting, but wouldn’t come into the yard.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Henry went back and wrapped a hand in the long black mane, urging him forward, but the stallion tossed his head and backed away with a snort.

“All right, stay here, then. Don’t go away; I’ll be right back.” Henry started up the path to the porch, surprised when he noticed the black Cadillac in the driveway. His face lit up when the front door swung open.. “Grandpa! I didn’t expect you to be home. Look what I’ve got.” He held up the pail. “Blueberries. Except some are for Mom and me; but the rest are for Belle to make a pie with.”

“Hello, Henry.” Rumpelstiltskin smiled and met him on the path, grabbing a handful of berries and popping a few into his mouth. “Mmm. Big storm last night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Did you see that one lightning strike? Mom thought it might have hit the wishing well, so I went up to see. Oh, and look what I found up there!” He put his pail down and ran back to the open gate, putting a hand on Nightshade’s neck and turning around to face Rumpelstiltskin with a grin.

“Henry.” Rumpelstiltskin paled. He advanced a little, then stopped. “Come back inside the yard. Step away from the horse.”

“What? Don’t worry; he’s friendly; he followed me all the way here without a rope or anything. In fact, I think he wanted me to get up on his back and ride.” But he came back to his grandfather’s side anyway.

“Did he? I’m not surprised.” His grandfather had a strange look in his eye. “Go put the berries in the kitchen, will you, Henry? ”

“Yeah, sure.” Puzzled, Henry picked the pail up. “Don’t scare him away. His name is Nightshade.” He went into the house, looking back over his shoulder in confusion. 

“Deadly Nightshade? Very fitting, isn’t it?” Rumpelstiltskin addressed the black horse. “I know what you are; and that boy is under my protection. Hurt him and your life is forfeit.”

The stallion lowered his head, neck extended and ears flattened, giving him a snakelike look. He drew his lips back from long yellow teeth and whisked his tail, a warning gleam in his eyes. But he did not retreat.

Rumpelstiltskin advanced cautiously, his attention caught by something, when the screen door banged and Henry came dashing back out.

“is something wrong?” he worried, sensing the tension in the air.

“You said he followed you all the way here from the well,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed out. “Then why hasn’t he followed you into the yard?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like to feel fenced in?”

“It’s because I have wards against magic placed around the house and yard,” Rumpelstiltskin explained, not removing his eyes from the horse. “He can sense them.”

“Wait – so you’re saying he’s a magical horse?”

“You said your mom thought that the lightning struck near the Well. Did you see any signs of damage?”

Henry frowned. “I forgot to look. That was one of the reasons I went up there in the first place. But then I saw Nightshade, and I got distracted. But I’m sure I would have noticed if the well looked any different from usual. So I guess it didn’t hit it.”

“Or it went straight down into the water,” said Rumpelstiltskin softly. “Straight through to Lake Nostos. It’s possible that much energy caused a transference of magic that could have pulled something up out of the well. Do you want to guess what lives in the waters of Lake Nostos?”

Henry suspected that “fish” wasn’t the right answer. “A… magical black horse?” he hazarded. “But he’s too big to fit through the well!”

“If he were a normal horse, yes. But most water horses – and they aren’t uncommon in Fairy Tale Land, as you call it – have the ability to transform into human shape. Not the sea horses – and I don’t mean the little fishy things that are called seahorses here – but the kelpies in the rivers and the lake horses can do it, so size isn’t an issue. The lake horse that lived in Lake Nostos was called the Each Uisge, which literally translates as "Water Horse”. I suspect that once the Each Uisge cleared the well, though, it lost its magic and reverted back to its natural shape. Do you know what the Each Uisge ate, Henry?“

"Grass?” But the tone of his grandfather’s voice suggested otherwise.

“Fish, when there was nothing else. But it preferred human flesh. It’s favourite trick was to lure a person onto its back, whereupon it would plunge with its rider under the surface of the water, drowning and devouring them.”

“But it was just grazing when I saw it!” Henry protested.

“Was it?” Suddenly the thing that he had seen clicked in Rumpelstiltskin’s head. “How very interesting.” He slowly approached the stallion, who tossed its head, shifting restlessly in place. “I won’t hurt you if you mean no harm,” Rumpelstiltskin promised it. “Show me your teeth.”

Not understanding, Henry watched as, after a moment, Nightshade opened his mouth and champed his teeth, not quite snapping at Rumpelstiltskin but in a way suggesting that he might change his mind if he felt like it.

“I don’t get it. Are you checking to see how old he is?” Henry came a little nearer, more cautious now but still unafraid. Nightshade could have attacked him at any time and he hadn’t.

“A water horse’s teeth are sharp and pointed,” Rumpelstiltskin explained. “For the tearing of meat. But these are just ordinary horse teeth. They could still do some serious damage, if he decided to bite you, but I think the passage through the well has changed him into a more or less normal horse . Albeit with the ability to understand human speech. You can understand us, can’t you?”

The stallion bobbed his head.

“So…he’s alone, in a strange land, and he needs a home,” Henry summarised, looking up at his grandfather sideways.

The words hit Rumpelstiltskin like a punch in the gut.

 _So…she needs a home?_ he had once asked hopefully.

He looked at the stallion in a new light, wondering what he might be feeling.

“I suppose he does,” he agreed. “It doesn’t bother you that he’s a man-eating monster?”

“I eat cows, and pigs, and chickens, and fish and clams,” said Henry matter-of-factly. “I don’t think I have a right to judge. Maybe they get tired of fish all the time.”

Rumpelstiltskin opened and closed his mouth without a sound, looking from Henry to the horse and back again. “I…I honestly don’t have a good response to that.” Just like Belle, he thought, looking to see what was beneath the label of “monster”.

“You wouldn’t eat me, even if we were back in Fairy Tale Land, would you, Nightshade?” Henry asked confidently, closing the gap between them and reaching out to straighten the stallion’s long forelock, which hung over his eyes. He found another piece of what he now realised was waterweed twined in the long black strands and tossed it to the ground. Rumpelstiltskin watched closely, ready to jerk the boy back if needed But the Each Uisge dropped his head, pushing at the boy with what looked like affection.

“Hey, Grandpa –” Henry looked back over his shoulder. “If the wards keep anything magical out, how come my mom can come and go? She has magic." 

"Well, they’re a little more specific than that. If the person, or thing with magic has no intent to harm, it can pass through the wards without being hurt.”

“Hear that, Nightshade?” Henry asked excitedly. “If you’re willing to live here peacefully and not hurt anyone, you can come into the yard. And we’ll know you mean it. We can go for rides in the woods and I’ll take care of you and give you good things to eat. What about it?” He stepped back and to the side, giving the Each Uisge room. It backed up a few paces, then came forward again and struck out with a hoof. Henry saw a spark of gold appear where he presumed the magical barrier must be

“come on, Nightshade!” he called encouragingly. “You can do it.”

The stallion snorted again, tossing his head, obviously nervous. Henry could almost see the stallion screwing up his courage, and then with a sudden gathering of muscles, he sank back onto his haunches and then bounded forward, the air crackling gold around him as he passed through the wards and into the yard unharmed.

“You did it!” Henry flung his arms around Nightshade’s neck, feeling the stallion’s warm breath as he whuffled in agreement against Henry’s neck. 

“Well.” Rumpelstiltskin shook his head ruefully, wondering why he was even surprised that Henry had made friends with a man-eating creature from another land, apparently without even trying very hard. Henry had that effect on people. He should know. He clapped a hand against the stallion’s shoulder.

“Welcome to Storybrooke.”


End file.
